I was out in the dawn this morning, suffering my usual insomnia. It was cold and even the dogs thought I was crazy. The grass was heavy with wetness and flurries of thin rain stung my cheeks. The gulls were swirling inland from the sea, their mewing carried across the empty fields by the wind. September seems the month of winds. I walked a while, tasting the salt air, wishing I'd dressed more warmly.
And then I came back to the house where my love lay sleeping, and dug over a patch for onions, being glad that I was alive and on Flinders Island.